


Border

by blossombell



Category: Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Melancholy, Pining, Reflection, like... SO much unspoken longing, snufkin pov, unspoken longing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 09:53:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18547390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blossombell/pseuds/blossombell
Summary: “I love borders. August is the border between summer and autumn; it is the most beautiful month I know. Twilight is the border between day and night, and the shore is the border between sea and land. The border is longing: when both have fallen in love but still haven't said anything. The border is to be on the way. It is the way that is the most important thing.”-- Tove Jansson





	Border

**Author's Note:**

> i found this quote from tove and immediately felt compelled to write almost 1k fluffy pining snufkin nonsense about it??? her power honestly
> 
> anyway snufkin's spring tune makes my heart ache for reasons i can't comprehend so here's me trying to deal with that
> 
> alternate title: snufkin and moomin talk about fish for five minutes straight compilation

“You know, I caught a fish this afternoon that was the size of my forearm.”

Snufkin found great humour in the way Moomintroll’s eyes immediately lit up. “Really? You did? What kind?”

“Salmon,” Snufkin said, with a smile. “I have plenty left over if you would like to take some back to Moominmamma.”

“Oh, that would be wonderful,” said Moomintroll, and gazed up at the sky ahead of them. The companions sat together on the bridge as they often did during the evening, when the dusk was just gathering behind the forest in preparation to spread nightfall across the valley.

Snufkin enjoyed this time of day very much. It was a short stop between day and night, where he could rest for a moment before the world shifted again. Snufkin was conscious of time, but did not regard it as his enemy - merely, it was the mark of his reality. Without the passing of time, he would have no reason to exist in the present - for there would be nothing to look back on or forward to either side of it.

He only wished that Moomintroll could feel the same way. Already, he was seeing the first glimpses of sorrow on his dear friend’s expression.

“Salmon.”

“Mmm?”

“The salmon come in the autumn.”

Moomintroll looked over at Snufkin, and Snufkin dared not meet his gaze. He looked towards the river instead, and reeled his fishing line back an inch or two. He watched the buoy on the end of the hook bob idly up and down.

“Yes,” he said, after a moment. “They do, Moomintroll.”

Moomin’s ears flattened against his head. “Sometimes I wish I could just freeze everything around me. Then I wouldn’t have to worry, and I could just take my time with you and never be sad.”

“Oh,” Snufkin sighed, and there was deep sympathy in his voice. “But if the summer never ended then we could never take delight in the spring. I think that would make you just as sad.”

Moomintroll crossed his arms. Snufkin gazed down at the swirls of the river as it forged past rocks and twisted into the crevices of the bank. It chattered as it passed him by, before voyaging onwards under the bridge.

Something came to him.

“Moomintroll,” he said. “Do you know why the salmon arrive in the autumn?”

“Of course,” Moomin replied. “It is their mating season.”

“More than that, though,” Snufkin said. Under the folds of the water, he spotted a few darting shapes, eager on their way to find higher ground. “They are going home, you see? They feel safest in the waters that are familiar to them. It is a difficult journey, as they come from the open ocean and go all the way up into the mountains—”

They looked behind them, and saw the way the river wound itself through the valley and up towards the hills. Snufkin traced it with his finger.

“They go against the flow,” he continued. “They are even known to jump _up_ waterfalls.”

Moomintroll raised his brow, seemingly impressed. “Plucky little things, then.”

“Very,” Snufkin agreed. “To the salmon, the autumn is the spring. It is time for them to return to their home.”

This time, Snufkin did meet Moomintroll’s eyes. He felt an urge to reach out and touch Moomin’s cheek, and the very notion of it made his ears flush red.

“I… hadn’t thought of it like that before,” said Moomintroll softly.

Snufkin nodded. “Some creatures are just like that. They need to go, and then… they need to come back.”

Snufkin had always felt the same way in the late summer. He felt the pull of change, the need to find somewhere else to be, and with it, longing. Beautiful and terrible in equal measure, he was both awed and frightened by the capacity he had for longing. He would wait until his heart was full of it, until he was splitting in two and could not take it a moment longer… and then he would write his letter to Moomintroll, and he would leave.

It was on the air, this longing. He could feel it. He could see it in Moomintroll’s eyes, too, it was undeniable. The autumn made them dependent on each other.

And that was why he always had to go.

“Take this,” he said to Moomintroll, and handed his fishing rod over. Moomin took it diligently.

Snufkin reached into his pocket. He pulled out his harmonica, and tapped it twice against his palm. He lifted it to his lips, and began to play the same tune he had played at the beginning of that very spring.

Over the years, Snufkin had felt himself soften impossibly. Moomintroll had exposed every vulnerability, every fear, every hope of Snufkin’s, and admired him for it - no, loved him for it. And _love_ was the very word that Snufkin tried to convey, in the way he looked at Moomintroll, in the way he pushed each note from his harmonica. He wanted Moomin to know without telling him, because the telling would somehow destroy the beautiful ache in his heart that he was so beholden to.

He would not tell him yet - but they were on the way. And the way was the most important thing.

The last note drifted out across the wind, and they sat together in silence.

Snufkin tucked his harmonica away, and with a yawn, lifted his arms high above his head. His left came to rest behind Moomin’s back.

“Hypocrite,” Moomintroll mumbled.

Snufkin stared. “What?”

A hint of a smirk crossed Moomintroll’s snout. “Well. You spoke so beautifully of the salmon right after catching one and eating it for lunch.”

Snufkin couldn’t help the way the laughter bubbled up in his throat and spilled out. He shrugged, and Moomintroll laughed along with him.

“Such is nature.”


End file.
